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Rh d'Or, but our anchor stuck into a rock, and just as we might have sailed, a heavy fog came on, so here we are. July 26. I did not write last night because we were at sea and the motion was too disagreeable, and my mind was as troubled as the ocean. We left Baie de Portage before five in the morning, with a good breeze, intending to come to at Chevalier's settlement, forty-seven miles; but after sailing thirty, the wind failed us, it rained and blew, with a tremendous sea which almost shook the masts out of our good vessel, and about eight we were abreast of Bonne Espérance; but as our pilot knew as much of this harbor as he did of the others, which means nothing at all, our captain thought prudent to stand off and proceed to Bras d'Or. The coast we have followed is like that we have hitherto seen, crowded with islands of all sizes and forms, against which the raging waves break in a frightful manner. We saw few birds, with the exception of Gannets, which were soaring about us most of the day feeding on capelings, of which there were myriads. I had three Uria troile thrown overboard alive to observe their actions. Two fluttered on top of the water for twenty yards or so, then dove, and did not rise again for fully a hundred yards from the vessel. The third went in head-foremost, like a man diving, and swam under the surface so smoothly and so rapidly that it looked like a fish with wings. At daylight we found ourselves at the mouth of Bras d'Or harbor, where we are snugly moored. Our pilot not knowing a foot of the ground, we hoisted our ensign, and Captain Billings came to us in his Hampton boat and piloted us in. Bras d'Or is the grand rendezvous of almost all the fishermen that resort to this coast for codfish. We found here a flotilla of about one hundred and fifty sail, principally fore-and-aft schooners, a few pickaxes, etc., mostly from Halifax and the eastern portions of the United States. There was a life and stir about this harbor which surprised us after so many weeks